Inner Tubes and Wedding Bells

VIENTIANE, Laos — The girl that managed our guesthouse in Vangvieng told us that 10 years ago, the town was nothing more than a dusty farming village on the banks of the spring-fed Nam Song river. Boy, what a difference a decade can make. Nowadays, Vangvieng is sort of like a Laotian New Braunfels, only without any rules or police to put a damper on the riverine merry-making.

Like New Braunfels, Vangvieng seems to have largely sold its soul to tourism and the undeniable allure of tubing. At first I tried to dislike the place, but after being there for several days, I have to admit that it was actually pretty darn fun.

On our second day in town we decided to go tubing. The tube rental place lashed our tubes to the roof of a tuk-tuk and we climbed in the back with several others for the 10-minute drive over a potholed dirt road to the upstream put-in point. Unlike Texas-style tubing — where everyone brings their own libations in ice chests — in Vangvieng when you get thirsty you simply float into one of the dozens of makeshift bars set up along the riverbanks. As you approach the bamboo thatched huts, a bar employee reaches out to you with a long bamboo pole. If you feel like visiting that particular bar, you grab hold of the pole and the bar man pulls you into shore.

Dutch Courage fuels a trapeze daredevil.

Some of the bars are little more than thatched lean-tos, but others sport elaborate multi-level decks and balconies built of rough-cut lumber and lashed bamboo poles that rise dozens of feet above the water. In front of almost every bar sits a stack of concert speakers, each about the size of a kitchen refrigerator, that blast distorted music across the water. The more popular bars have insanely tall trapezes and zip lines hung from rickety bamboo-framed towers supported by rusted guywires tied off to nearby trees and rocks. At one of the bigger bars, we sat for several hours cheering on the crowd of drunken fools doing stunts on the bar’s ludicrously tall and precarious trapeze. In a way it’s rather refreshing to be in a place where liability and personal injury lawsuits have yet to be introduced.

Right in the middle of town, the river splits and then rejoins to form a palm-tree shaded island maybe five acres in size. At some point after sundown, when everyone’s gotten off the river for the day and soaked up all the Beerlao with a cheap noodle dinner in town, they amble across the river on swaying bamboo footbridges to hit the island’s collection of open-air bars. We strolled over to the island the first evening we were in town. It was still early and the place was deserted. The bridges and winding dirt footpaths leading to different bars were eerily lighted with dim fluorescent bulbs hung from drooping wires strung tree to tree. Through the tropical foliage you could see the blinking and flashing Christmas lights and neon glow of half a dozen different bars and hear the throbbing of music from giant speakers, but the whole island seemed completely devoid of people. Shortly afterward, the crowds began streaming over from town, but for about half an hour the place had a surreal, other-wordly atmosphere, sort of reminiscent of that scene in the movie “Apocalypse Now” when the guys on the boat arrive upriver at the USO show that quickly goes awry.

Exploring the countryside outside Vangvieng.

On our second evening in Vangvieng, after a long and sunburned afternoon of tubing and beer drinking, we had an interesting experience. I’m still not exactly sure how it all transpired, but we somehow got invited to a Laotian wedding.

A Korean family we’d been visiting with outside our guesthouse mentioned something about a local wedding going on in town that evening, and the next thing we knew we were walking with them down a dirt backstreet to the wedding.

The happy couple passes out shots of firey lao lao.

The event took place on a corner of the abandoned gravel airstrip next to the town’s main street that during daylight hours serves as a makeshift bus station, taxi terminal, and open-air flea market. Just before we’d reached the air strip, a guy on a scooter pulled up and told us we’d each have to donate a gift of 20,000 kip (about two bucks) to the bride and groom before being admitted to the wedding. It seemed like a reasonable enough request, so we all handed the kid a 20,000 kip bill which he stuffed in an envelope. Once we’d paid up, he told us to proceed to the wedding and then he putt-putted off into the darkness on his scooter.

At the airstrip we found a huge party cranking up. The wedding was in a cordoned-off area covered by large canvas party tents. The bride and groom stood at the entrance greeting people as they came in. As each guest entered, the bride and groom poured a shot of lao lao (a potent rice whiskey) from a bottle and handed it over on a silver serving tray. When it was our turn, Julianna and I both just smiled and bowed to the couple and tossed back the shots. I wanted to tell them “congratulations” or something of that order, but all I know how to say in Lao is “thank you,” which I did.

Underneath each tent were half a dozen or so tables covered with bottles of Beerlao and sodas. In the middle of the place, a huge buffet was set up with dozens and dozens of silver serving bowls heaped with various examples of Laotian cuisine. A towering wall of speakers next to the stage pumped out distorted Laotian pop songs. About 15 minutes into the festivities, the lights flickered and then the power went out. Everyone hooted and whistled in the darkness until the lights and music pulsed back on maybe 30 seconds later.

We stuffed ourselves on the buffet and later stumbled and mimed our way through several versions of a strange Laotian group dance somewhat reminiscent of the Hokey Pokey. Throughout the evening, people smiled and glanced our way with looks of bemused curiosity. We stayed for maybe two hours, until the deafening music and the freely flowing Beerlao began to take their toll. The next day we were told that it’s a sign of prestige to have Westerners attend a wedding in Laos, even if they’re complete strangers, and that the wedding party often sends out recruiters to round up foreigners to attend the festivities. Whether that’s true or not I don’t know, but either way, it was a great time and a fascinating, if fleeting, glimpse into Laotian society.

Even the beer delivery man uses the Laotian style of transportation.

After several days in Vangvieng we were beginning to feel the effects of too much Beerlao and too little cultural exchange, so we knew it was time to head out. We arrived in Vientiane, the capital of Laos, a couple of days ago. It’s an interesting place, with much more of an authentic Laotian feel. Stretching along the banks of the Mekong, the city is comprised of a fascinating combination of architecture. In one block you see crumbling French colonial mansions, faded Art Deco apartments, derelict 1950s Space Age styled buildings with drying laundry flapping in the open windows, dank communist-era cement block structures, and the occasional sleek and gleaming new office building or shopping mall.

Clapboard shanties now partially obscure many of Vientiane’s once grand colonial mansions.

At the center of the main intersection in town there’s a looming replica of Paris’ Arc de Triomphe. I read somewhere that the concrete monument was constructed in 1969 with misappropriated cement originally donated by the United States for the purpose of building an airport runway. Rather than using its official name of Patuxai, many here supposedly refer to the towering edifice as “The Vertical Runway.”

While a pervasive sense of neglect and decay hangs over much of the city’s streets, a paradoxical vibe of impending prosperity is felt as well, as though Laos (or at least Vientiane) is on the verge of bursting into the 21st Century and catching up to its more economically advanced Asian neighbors. Everywhere you see signs of this, from the many late-model cars plying the streets, to the fancy cellphones and electronics displayed in store windows. This morning I read something that summed it up perfectly. On the back page of the English-language Vientiane Times was a half-page full-color advertisement for the new 2008 Ford Explorer. In large letters across the top of the ad it said, “Luxurious Driving Machine Coming Soon To Laos.”

I wish we could spend more time here, but tomorrow we set out for Hanoi in northern Vietnam. I’m really looking forward to exploring Vietnam. I hope you all hang around for the ride.